The Escapee: Cyrodill's John Dillinger
by Kiraden
Summary: After being arrested for a major robbery, Marc Aurleit is imprisoned in the Imperial City. After escaping, he needs to reassemble his crew and eldue the Imperial Legion. Note that this is not the complete story. I just need some feedback before I continue


The Escapee

Written by Kiraden

Chapter 1

"Meal time, Breton trash." growls a sunburned Imperial guard. I rise up from my straw cot and remember my predicament. My name is Marc Aurleit. I'm in prison in the Imperial City for robbery. I brush a few strands of blonde hair out of my face and head towards the door to my cell. This is the highlight of my day, accepting stale bread and rotten fruit from a balding overly tanned pig.

The guard, Flavius, shoves a piece of moldy slop that was once bread and a clay cup of water through the cell door. "Your grand feast, your highness." Flavius says sarcastically. I hate this oaf. He honestly has nothing better to do than heckle me all day. I look into the under-filled cup and see my reflection. I still look the same as the day I was arrested, though slightly worse for wear. My blonde hair clings to my face and runs just past my neck. My eyes have black circles around them from insomnia. My skin is still pale as the moon. I'm still wearing standard prisoner's attire: A brown tunic, green pants that stop at my ankles, and flimsy sandals. All made from jute fiber.

Flavius has apparently grown tired of pestering me, and I immediately get to work chiseling at the window bars of my cell with a knife. In the outside world I could easily just melt the bars with a fire spell. However, the Imperial Watch puts a heavy armguard on all prisoners. It silences any magic the wearer tries to cast. Back when slavery was the norm, these armguards were used on slaves to prevent rebellion. Just….a…little…more….YES!

Chapter 2

The bar on the window is off, and I squeeze through to freedom. Ach! Between the window and the ground is a 10 foot fall. I'm bruised, but haven't broken anything. I get back on my feet and run from the wretched circular building that I've been stuck in for the last three months.

I've made it to the shore of Lake Rumare. This is the first water I've seen in three months that is clean, clear, and not in a clay cup. I rush to the water's edge and gulp several mouthfuls of liquid. I also notice that I smell from not bathing since my incarceration. I strip off my clothes and take a quick bath. I try to wash my clothes, but the cheap jute shirt falls apart in my hands. I put the pants pack on and head for the small shack that was at one point my crew's hideout.

The shack has fallen into disrepair, but I don't care. Inside, I search a chest of drawers for some decent clothing. I don a tan shirt and grey pants, along with some rough leather shoes. I've almost forgotten what it's like to wear proper clothes.

I consider trimming my hair and tidying myself up, but I'm too hungry for that. I take a few coins from a jewelry box on a shelf and head toward the Imperial City waterfront.

Chapter 3

The Imperial City waterfront: I have never seen a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. Isn't it great? I avoid the restaurants I normally frequent, and instead head to the Bloated Float, an old ship that has been converted into an inn. Right as I'm about to go inside, I remember my gauntlet. Damn it, I forgot that I can't take this cursed thing off. I roll down my shirt sleeve over it and enter.

The whole place smells of alcohol and blood. Half of the occupants are passed out. I pay for a plate of mutton and a beer and take a seat. As I eat, I keep my head pointed downward in hopes that no one will recognize me. The smoked meat feels like the best food ever at the time, and the beer satisfies. Oh, how I've missed freedom.

"Marc? Is that you?" a Bosmer whispers to me. "Marc, by the divines, I haven't seen you in months!" I recognize the Bosmer as Daelorn. Daelorn is an independent thief, but my crew has hired him occasionally when we needed an extra man. More like half a man, as even by Bosmer standards Daelorn is short. He's about five feet tall, with wavy brown hair and a light beard. "Shut up, you twittering imp!" I mutter. "You'll get us both arrested." "I'm sorry, Marc." Daelorn replies, lowering his almost child-like voice by a few decibals. "You got out of prison early?" he asks. "You could say that." I reply. I don't want word of my jailbreak getting out.

"Listen Daelorn, do you know what happened to the others?" In an attempt to dissolve us, my crew was sent to separate prisons following our arrest. "Yeah, I heard a few leads. Heinrich was sent to Anvil. R'Kassa is in Chorrol. I'm not sure about Zackary or Jayda, but I think one of them is in Bruma. That's all I know."

"At least they're all alive." I reply. I think about them, how I knew them. Heinrich was a big Nord. He did the heavy lifting and breaking open of things. R'Kassa was our Khajiit, and he was one hell of a lock-picker. Zachary was a Redguard. He didn't have any special skills, but he was second best at everything. Lastly, Jayda was our fence. She was a Breton-Bosmer mix, but not too many people know.


End file.
